


Collapsed

by spideyandstark



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: An iconic game of marco polo, Angst, Based on a Tumblr Post, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fluff, Hurt Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Son Peter Parker, dad tony stark, have i ever rly been okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 16:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14336802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spideyandstark/pseuds/spideyandstark
Summary: Tony Stark takes Peter Parker on a mission.Peter Parker faces his worst fear.They play Marco-Polo.





	Collapsed

School ended at 2:45pm for Peter.

Since the plane crash, getting out of those gates was more prominent on Peter’s mind than ever before. This was due to two very important, newfound factors: one, that Peter realised, more so than before, that the world was dangerous, and two, that outside the gates, upon taking the first left, continuing straight and then taking the second right after that, he would often be met by an inexplicably cheerful Tony Stark with a packed lunchbag in one hand and a spare rucksack shrugged across the other.

Today, when Peter reached the curb beside the alley, Tony was standing casually amongst a bunch of busy Friday afternoon shoppers, wearing sunglasses in a very weak attempt to reduce attention to himself.

“’Scuse me. Sorry -” 

Tony steadied Peter’s shoulder blade lightly after he’d pushed through the crowds, a small smirk playing briefly on his lips as he pushed him lightly towards an alley.

“Go on,” he murmured.

Peter frowned. “But -”

“A picture? Sure,” Tony responded to an attractive blonde, throwing up a peace sign as she giggled and positioned them both in order to activate a particularly flowery Snapchat filter.

Peter rolled his eyes and wandered down the alleyway. Today seemed very different than other days, even on the occasions he met Tony. The older man usually brought Happy to keep the crowds at bay, and then he hired out a cafe or fast food place so they could talk about Peter’s day - 

Peter stopped.

“What the hell,” he breathed.

At the end of the alleyway, the Iron Man suit sparkled like - Peter frowned for an analogy - maybe that vampire guy in that book Liz told him to read. Except way cooler.

“Spider-boy. You gonna suit up or stand there gawking?”

Peter whipped round as Tony came up casually behind him. Despite the carelessness in his tone, Peter could clearly read the anxiety lingering in the man's gaze. Tony, detecting Peter’s harsh glare, looked away, and a knot of guilt clenched in the fifteen-year-old’s stomach.

“What - why - I thought we usually -”

“I’ll explain. Get your suit on,” said Tony, a hint of humour entering his tone, “and gosh darn it, do it quickly.”

Peter unzipped his bag, quickly pulling out the Spider-Man suit and starting to change. “Yeah?”

“We’re going to Manhattan,” said Tony, pausing for a moment. “Aunt Hottie knows. I’ve packed your stuff, but we won’t be there long.”

Peter perked immediately. “Really? Is this - is this another - retr-mission?”

Tony chuckled. “You could call it that, yeah.” His expression hardened. “This guy’s good - well at being bad I mean - and that’s why I need your help to take him. I’ve got some updates to add to your suit when we get there. This could be dangerous. That’s why, you get hurt one bit, I’m sending you straight home. Got it? One cut, Parker, you’re out of the ring.”

Peter had sort of stopped listening after Tony’s ‘yeah’. He nodded excitedly as he brought his mask over his hair. “So -”

“Wait, don’t put that on yet.” Tony tossed him an Iron Man lunchbox. “Responsible - adult - people - for lack of better words - make sure kids eat.” 

Peter giggled as he opened the bag, his fingers clasping a messily handmade sandwich. “’Responsible adult people?’ Do you mean parent-” He cut himself off quickly as an odd feeling settled in the pit of his stomach, and silenced himself with a mouthful of bread. “Sorry-”

“It’s… fine,” said Tony, gazing steadily at his watch for a moment to avoid Peter’s eyes. “…So trains are slow. And lame. We’re flying.”

Peter pulled down his mask to cover his face, his head tilting a little. “Uh, sure. How am I gonna -”

Tony stepped into his suit, the mask closing over his own face and the lights of his eyes shining as he spoke. “You can try and keep up.”

“What?! Mr. Stark -” 

His voice was drained by the sound of the Iron Man thrusters. Within half a second, the suit was airborne.

“You’re losing,” came Tony’s voice from above.

The eyes on Peter’s suit narrowed competitively as he aimed with his web shooters.

For the entire race to Manhattan, there was a beam on his face.

(And perhaps, if one were to lift Tony’s faceplate, they might see the ghost of a proud smile.)

 

—

 

A digital clock beside the bed read 7:27pm.

Peter laid on his front, one hand supporting his chin and the other flicking through TV channels according to Tony’s instructions. He was in his newly-upgraded suit, though the mask laid on the bed beside him. Peter didn’t really mind - he felt grateful, as he glanced back at Tony, who was propped up against the pillows in his complete suit of armour, missing only the helmet which was tucked under his arm.

“That one,” said Tony, pointing to one of the channels before tossing some popcorn into his mouth. “You want some?”

Peter reached into the bag and filled his mouth with the stuff, then clicked the channel Tony had indicated. He stared at it blankly for a while, not really taking in what was happening - his senses were alert for the villain. 

“Tony? I thought we were fighting some Monster of Manhattan.”

Tony ran a hand through his hair and glanced out of the window. “Yeah, well, he strikes this area every time. But I thought, no point waiting in the cold, right? Eat your popcorn, squirt.” 

Peter took another handful of popcorn and frowned. “So how will we know -”

A sudden explosion sounded from directly left of the hotel - the building’s foundation trembled violently for what was probably a mere second - which was accompanied by the screams of the hotel occupants. Peter was already at the window, his mask secured over his face. Tony was right behind him, his eyes narrowed and his helmet still tucked in the crook of his elbow.

“You okay, kid? He… usually strikes the next street.”

Peter nodded and stepped up onto the windowsill, pushing the glass open and standing thoughtfully for a moment. “…Anything I should know?”

“I’ve been told he works alone. Also he’s really good at blowing things up so… dodge those.” 

“Right.”

“I’m going to evacuate the vicinity.” Tony’s voice became a hint robotic as he finally pulled his helmet on. “You wait here. I’ll be 5 minutes.”

The repulsors started up.

“But Mr. Stark -“

“No buts. Stay in this building, you got that? Do not go seeking this guy out alone.”

Before Peter could object, Tony had soared into the air above the city. Peter sighed and gazed back at the TV, but the news hadn’t yet caught on to the attack.

In Peter’s own defence, he sat on the windowsill for exactly 2 minutes and 39 seconds. It was when he heard a lady’s scream that reminded him awfully of Aunt May that he instinctively swung into action, his heart pounding as he followed the gut-wrenching sound.

He stopped at… a train station. It was all but abandoned, undoubtably thanks to Tony, but obviously the final train had just pulled in and dropped off whoever was still down there. Peter rushed down the stairs and stood wide-eyed at the bottom, his voice hoarse and too young-sounding as he yelled out to the guy down there.

“You - you get the hell away from her!”

The man turned around to face him. The woman who’d been screaming was holding a child, and gazed at Peter gratefully as she rushed past him up the stairs.

“Pretty hefty demand for a guy in a spandex spider costume.”

Peter frowned. Tony had warned him graciously not to go after the enemy alone - but this was just a single guy, with no armour and no visible weapons. Even if he was hiding something, Peter was sure he’d be able to stop him before he could get it out anyway. Despite the surge of confidence in his chest, Peter still watched the guy cautiously; his face was mostly shadowed - the previous explosion must’ve caused a blackout in this area.

“You’re done here,” said Peter. “Come quietly or I’ll have to result to other - other methods.”

Maybe it was kind of obvious he hadn’t done this before, but if it was, the guy didn’t seem to respond to it. In fact, he raised his hands in surrender.

It was dark in the tunnel. Peter didn’t see the smirk.

“I’m done here,” the man repeated.

Peter’s eyes widened and his mouth opened to formulate the word ‘no’ but instead the force of the blast pounded the air from his chest and dust filled his lungs and the whole station collapsed into the underground, rubble piling on top of him, twisting his spine and crushing his chest so that he couldn’t find the room to breathe, and tears stung at his eyes and everything was black and blurry, and it was happening again, the Vulture’s building, the taste of rubble and blood and sweat, and the wild panic as he tried to gasp in air -

Except this time, he couldn’t escape.

“Peter,” came Karen’s voice faintly. Perhaps some rubble had altered the volume or maybe it was just the ringing in Peter’s ears. “You appear to have sustained multiple injuries. I have been programmed to contact Mr. Stark."

Peter tried to scream through his mask and through his lungs, but his voice was barely a choked whisper, lost in rubble and panic and tears.

Tony had been redirecting civilians away from the danger zone for 7 minutes and 24 seconds and was heading back to the hotel when Friday alerted him to a distress signal from Peter’s suit.

He stopped for a brief moment to mumble an almost incoherent “shit,” the panic raw in his throat, before he followed the source of the call.

“List injuries,” said Tony shakily.

“Peter Parker appears to be suffering from a major concussion, broken bones, a puncture wound through the upper spine -“

Tony stopped listening after a while. Each injury made it harder to believe he'd be okay. Tony noticed the fallen concrete of the once-station and landed nearby, not wanting to risk moving the debris in a way that would further injure the kid - his goddamn kid who he’d left alone, his kid who was good as dead -

Tony’s voice cracked helplessly. “J.A.R.V.I.S.”

“I’m sorry boss, this is Friday. Would you like me to contact emergency services?”

Tony removed his faceplate to wipe his face, shaking his head despairingly - the kid needed his medical attention, and he needed it immediately, and he was trapped under piles of goddamn rubble -

"Peter?" he called out loudly, because the site was huge and would take hours to clear, because he wasn't thinking straight, because he just needed to hear his kid's voice.

It didn't come for a long time. Tony felt the panic rising in his chest like a monster clawing its way up from hell, but Tony forced it back; he couldn't afford to panic, he couldn't be a quivering mess on the ground whilst his kid cried under the rubble.

The voice was so so quiet that Tony almost didn't hear it. 

"Marco..."

He stopped in confusion, uncertain if he'd heard it right. The voice repeated itself, a little louder, followed immediately by a weak fit of coughs.

"Marco."

Tony scanned the debris desperately. "...Polo?"

"Maaarrrcooo..."

"Friday, scan for the source." Tony walked cautiously across the site, stopping when he was uncertain in case the kid could be below him. He repeated himself firmly: "Polo. Keep playing, Peter, I've nearly got you."

"Mm..." There was a long pause. "M-Marco."

"Mr. Parker's heat signature has been detected." 

Tony started clearing the rubble above Peter as fast as he could, his armour whirring with the stress of the debris. "Polo, kid, Polo, please."

Peter just coughed.

It took 5 minutes and 13 seconds for Tony to clear the mountain of stone from Peter's back, a horrific twist of relief and nausea clenching his stomach as he gently pulled Peter out. The kid was crying. There was a slab of sharp rock jammed into his shoulder. 

“Shit,” Tony repeated shakily as he cradled Peter in his arms. He pulled off the boy’s mask. “You’re okay, Pete, you hear me? You’re gonna be fine, I won’t - I’m so goddamn sorry -“

Peter tried to pull himself closer to Tony, screaming in pain as the debris ripped against his moving tissue. Tony's heart flipped in agony. 

“Peter, I’m so sorry, I'm going to get this out, alright? You're okay, kid,” Tony repeated, wincing as he pulled the debris from Peter’s shoulder.

Peter yelped, the fingers on his left hand clawing weakly against Tony’s armour and the tears leaving clear tracks in rivulets down his dirtied face. Tony was crying too, maybe.

"S-Stop hu...rting - hurting me!" cried Peter. 

Tony brushed Peter's hair from his bloodied forehead gently. He didn't know how to respond, but there was a dull, throbbing ache in his heart.

Before Tony could formulate any words, Peter whimpered again and shook his head, maintaining that wild panic in his eyes, not really thinking straight. "M'sorry..."

Tony held him close against the armour. "You've got nothing to be sorry for, kid, just don't talk, you're fine, okay, I've got you, Jesus Christ -"

The repulsers started up and he was airborne in half a second, clutching Peter so damn close as he headed to the new Avengers facility. Every second seemed to drag on. Peter was slipping away now. 

He spoke one last time before his eyes fluttered closed.

"S-Sorry dad..."

 

-

 

Peter had a concussion, Tony repeated to himself. He would not remember anything he had said. He didn't mean anything he had said. He was panicked and pained and probably didn't even know who he was talking to.

Still.

Tony was clutching Peter's tiny hand in his own, his eyes glued to the monitor as if it would flatline as soon as he looked away, even though Peter seemed to be recovering. He looked small and pale and his arm was in a cast and there were bandages pressed tightly against his shoulder. Tony had put a flannel on his head in case he got too hot. Time was crawling by so slowly, Tony wondered if this was even real, that the rhythmic beating of the monitor could be too monologue, that the kid was tucked away in his own bed after a busy night of homework, maybe. But his head hurt too much and he wasn't waking up.

Tony's throat felt scratchy from crying and yeah, maybe he was dehydrated too, but who freaking cared, there was no way in hell he was going to leave Peter's side and risk him waking up alone in a place he'd been to just once. Tony gazed down at Peter's hand and rubbed his thumb over it soothingly. 

A voice cracked. 

"Marco?"

Tony glanced up quickly. Peter's fingers curled around his own. He scrunched his nose and blinked his eyes open carefully, squinting against the harsh white glare of the room. Suddenly he jolted and tried to sit up, his pupils dilated and his ears ringing as he tried to work out what had happened.

"What - why - what -"

Tony grabbed the kid's torso and held him still as he weakly flailed about, quickly pulling the flannel away from Peter's head and meeting his eyes firmly. "Whoa, whoa, kid, it's just me, you're in the Avengers facility, try and relax, alright?"

Tony felt Peter's body instantly relax against him, the tension in his muscles dissipating. The fight left his eyes. "Oh," he mumbled, "hey, Mmmister Stark."

"Hey." Tony's heart swelled with such intense relief he thought it might burst.

Peter's free arm drew instinctively to his throbbing head. "Mmm... head hurts."

"I'm sorry, kid. Do you remember anything?"

"Mmm..." Peter gazed at him in confusion after a moment. "Marco-Polo?"

Tony laughed. "Right. Anything else?"

"There was a lady screaming. Then..." Peter shrugged. "Here."

He'd called him dad, Tony reminded himself, then shook his head and gently put a hand on Peter's uninjured arm. "That's fine."

"Where am I?"

"Avengers facility," Tony repeated kindly.

"Where's Black Widow?"

Tony smirked. "Out."

"She not gonna marry me?"

"Unfortunately, no. I think she's got something going on with Clint." 

"Damn Clint."

"You said it."

Tony's eyes flitted aside momentarily to gaze out of the window. Bright, unfiltered sunshine was pooling into the room, casting Peter in an angelic glow. God, he'd nearly lost the kid. Tony gazed back at him firmly. "Hey kid, why don't you get some rest?"

"M'kay," said Peter. "Will you stay?"

"Of course," Tony smiled. He pulled his chair closer to Peter's bed and lightly pushed the curled locks from Peter's face.

Peter closed his eyes at the coolness of Tony's touch. "T'anks, dad."

Tony's hand stopped, hovering precariously over the kid's head for several fleeting moments, before Peter's chest started rising and falling in the deep, rhythmic lull of sleep.

Tony smiled.

"Alright, son."

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired partially by @fairytalewarrior's post on tumblr - I wrote this Super Depressing story and then laughed my ass off at that prompt, so I just had to rewrite and include it. Hopefully it made the story a little happier! Lads, I am going to die in Infinity War with the Peter/Tony angst


End file.
